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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261686">she's singing to me glory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannamoon/pseuds/hannamoon'>hannamoon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Canonical Child Abuse, F/M, Idiots in Love, Oh just kidding they're about to go and save each other, Self-Harm, Someone please come help these children, Soulmate-Identifying Marks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:20:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261686</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannamoon/pseuds/hannamoon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“They call it a soul mark,” he explains. “It’s some sort of old magic, I think. There’s a thousand stories of how it came to be, if you’re interested, though it’s mostly crap whichever way you slice it. Basically, it just means everyone gets stuck with the name of some other poor fool they’re meant to fall in love with, or be perfect for, or whatever you please.”</p><p>(Or, everyone is born with the name of their soul mate on their skin, and there's one orphan with the name of a lost princess.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>she's singing to me glory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the discord bullied me into writing this. for the most part, this is just canon with some soulmate shenanigans, although i have sliiiightly altered some things. just don’t ask me how dark prince eugene fits into this bc he doesn’t.</p><p>content warning: fairly graphic imagery of self-harm</p><p>title from glory by dermot kennedy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sister Hattie nearly drops the baby when she sees it. None the wiser, he giggles up at her, and takes advantage of her shock to latch a tiny hand around her fingers. That’s how the headmistress finds the both of them nearly a minute later, a child hanging off each of her sides, annoyance laced through her tone.</p><p>“Hurry up, sister! This is no time for coddling.” She goes to smack the young nun, but pulls her hand up short as her eyes scan the scene, coming to a rest on the small black words scrawled above his right hip. “Is that his soul marking?”</p><p>“Aye,” Sister Hattie agrees. “Do you think…?”</p><p>The children squeal in protest as Headmistress Rivera sets them to the ground. She places a firm hand against the baby’s mark, as if it will disappear otherwise.</p><p>“By the gods,” she whispers.</p><p>The rowdy Bank Street Orphanage slowly gathers around as the two stare down at the boy, squirming and babbling in protest at being left bare on the changing linens for so long. Soon, nearly every child and nun has witnessed the blessed mark, and whispers run down to the ones too little to reach the height of the dresser.</p><p>For it’s the royal Coronan name that lies upon his skin, clear as day, declaring him a prince faster than any wedding surely will. </p><p>
  <em>Mireya der Sonne.</em>
</p><hr/><p>The blade is cool in his hands as Eugene Fitzherbert runs a nervous finger over the edge, stalling for as long as he can. He’s crouching in the shadows of an old brick building, and his heart is pounding embarrassingly quick. His friend Arnwaldo hovers nearby, pacing across the alleyway. </p><p>“Are you <em>sure</em> you want to do this?” he asks.</p><p>Eugene still remembers the day the nuns gathered in the foyer as they awaited Sister Hattie’s return from the courthouse. His younger self stood among them, unsure of the importance of the morning but appreciative of the attention in the meantime.</p><p>She slammed through the door in barely five minutes passed, doubled over from her sprint, and the <em>Seven Kingdoms Weekly Courant</em> bunched in her hand. Sister Karina snatched the newspaper almost immediately, scanning the pages as the other nuns huddled closer, anxious for the news. The room held a collective breath as Sister Karina flipped to the final page. </p><p>With a gasp, she raised the paper high in the air and read aloud, “The King and Queen of Corona release a single lantern in the sky this nightfall, June 21, in honour of the newly birthed Princess Mireya der Sonne.”</p><p>The foyer filled with cheers and gossip, and one nun lifted four-year-old Eugene up in her arms to kiss each of his cheeks. He laughed along with the crowd, but apart from the three names he’d heard all through his life, he didn’t comprehend a moment. </p><p>Until, that is, he was transferred into Sister Hattie’s arms, and she fawned over him. </p><p>“My little prince,” she cooed, and it was a word he recognised from story books and pretend games with wooden swords. </p><p>He liked playing prince, so he grinned and shouted for all to hear, “Prince!”</p><p>Their responding laughter filled him with a pride he’d never felt before, and unbeknownst to him, he wouldn’t feel again for a very long time. </p><p>Leaning back against the building, Eugene grips the stolen kitchen knife in his hand and lifts up the edge of his shirt. He stares for a moment between the two—the blade may be dull from a lifetime of chopping vegetables, but the skin of his abdomen seems so soft and thin. The hesitancy only strengthens his grip. He wants to move forward, and this is the last thing holding him back.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, not looking up at Arnwaldo as he answers. “I have to.”</p><p>In retrospect, it makes sense that his one chance to be worth something was taken as easily as a child in the night.</p><p>He can’t recall the day the princess went missing. All he remembers is the slow way the nuns turned their backs to him, as they did with the other children, and left him with dreams bigger than himself. Eugene spent most of his childhood enamoured with books of fantasy and adventure, reading and enacting the stories aloud. His favourite was <em>The Tales of Flynnigan Rider</em>, a dashing prince who traveled the world, saving damsels and slaying beasts, all with more riches than he could ever need. </p><p>He also remembers when James Smith swiped the novel from his hands and ran. The boys chased circles around the orphanage, until Eugene caught him in the street, his hands fisting around the older boy’s shirt. </p><p>“That’s mine,” he said, though it wasn’t and they both knew that. “Give it back.”</p><p>Using his height against him, James held it up in the air, waving it just out of reach. “Come on, <em>your</em> <em>highness</em>. Take it from me.”</p><p>It was pointless to try, and though that registered somewhere in the back of his mind, Eugene threw his weight at James anyway. The boy barely shifted, and laughed down as he tried again and again. He tried to think like the heroes in his books, like Flynnigan Rider, but he only managed to lose his breath and fall to the brink of tears. </p><p>“I thought so,” James sneered, easily pushing Eugene to the muddy ground. “Come on, admit it. You’re as worthless as the rest of us.”</p><p>“That’s not true. I’m gonna find her, the princess, just wait and see.”</p><p>James finally dropped the book, kicking it into the mud dredged up from the recent storms until it was as filthy as the boy it landed next to. At least Eugene had the pride not to scramble after it. </p><p>“The princess is <em>dead</em>, dumbass. And you might as well be, too.”</p><p>He was right about the one thing. Eugene Fitzherbert, soul mate to the Lost Princess, is going to die today. As he brings the blade down to meet his skin, he’s aware of Arnwaldo turning away. It’s harder than he thought it would be to break through the flesh, and he has to try a few times, until he finds the right pressure and draws the first drop of blood with a gasp. </p><p>“Shit.”<br/> <br/>Peeking back, Arnwaldo pales at the sight. “Shit,” he echoes.</p><p>Eugene grits his teeth against the pain before trying again, digging in even harder through the small tear in his side. His hands are slick with sweat and blood when he’s finished, and the knife clatters to the ground. </p><p>The wound isn’t too deep, but instinct has him clutching a hand to his abdomen anyway. He leans back against the wall as Arnwaldo tries to fuss over him. Though there’s a ringing in his ears, he still catches when his friend calls him <em>Eugene</em> and shakes his head at the name. </p><p>“Flynn.” He grins, perhaps a bit madly, but the reality of what he’s done is sinking in. They left Bank Street at dawn, robbed two rolls of bread, and killed Eugene in an alleyway. His soul mark, the only thing holding him to his past, has been sliced clean through. “Call me Flynn Rider.”</p><hr/><p>“What’s this, Mommy?” </p><p>Gothel pauses, schooling her features away from the annoyance she feels before looking down at the child. It’s a question she hears nearly constantly these days, but when she casts her eyes down to where Rapunzel points, her blood runs cold. For the girl is staring at herself in the mirror, pointing to that dreadful mark on her shoulder blade.</p><p>“What are you talking about, flower? I see nothing but the filth covering you. Come now, sit in the tub.”</p><p>“No,” the child insists, twisting her head to better peer at it. “Right here. See?”</p><p>She’s been a nuisance ever since learned to talk. Taking a deep breath, Gothel casts her a smile and beckons the girl closer, so she can pretend to care about whatever it is that’s on her mind now. It’s always something, after all, and the quicker those curiosities are quelled, the better for them both.</p><p>“Oh, this old thing? Nothing to worry yourself over.”</p><p>When Rapunzel refuses to lose focus, Gothel returns to readying the bath for her. One day, she hopes, the child will be grateful for all she’s done for her.</p><p>“Those are letters. E…?”</p><p>“Rapunzel, get in the tub before it gets cold.”</p><p>That gets her attention at least, but her lip wobbles, as if she might cry, and Gothel doesn’t have the patience for another one of those episodes. She grits her teeth against the curse rising in her chest, and smooths a hand over the child’s hair. Right. Anything for her flower.</p><p>“Why, yes, I believe that is the letter E.”</p><p>Seemingly satisfied, Rapunzel finally scrambles into the tub. “What does it say?”</p><p>“It’s a name.” Gothel soaks the girl’s hair in the water while she thinks of how to proceed, regretting teaching Rapunzel how to read. There’s a fine line between giving her just enough of what she wants, while withholding the proper things. “The name of some other person, out in the world, who will try to hurt you.”</p><p>“Hurt me?”</p><p>“Yes. Everyone has one. Because people are so horrible, you see, that fate let’s us know who has the power to hurt us the most.”</p><p>Rapunzel’s eyes widen, and she sinks further into the water. Gothel allows her to wallow in the lie, thankful for the silence as she grabs the soap and begins to gently lather it at the child’s roots. As she’s carefully rinsing out the suds, she feels Rapunzel ease back up and entertain herself with the bubbles.</p><p>She waits a beat for her to say something, but the girl seems to have turned her mind to other matters. A simple thing, she is, but it’s no matter. It’s not as if she’ll ever leave.</p><hr/><p>“Now this one looks like it comes with a good story.”</p><p>Really, Flynn has tried his damnedest to keep his past far away from his life, but when the whore pauses above him to trace the scar above his hip, his mind begins to blank. And not because of their various states of undress.</p><p>It’s hard to picture the little boy who thought he held the world in the palm of his hand, all for something as ridiculous as a soul mark. He can’t even recognise that kid as himself, not anymore. But if everything goes as planned tomorrow—he doesn’t have much faith in the brothers, but surely they can’t fail at raising a rope from the ceiling—he might finally earn that happily ever after. </p><p>So he answers her on autopilot with his mind on the dream of a crown. “Nah, it was barely a scratch. You should see the other guy, though.”</p><hr/><p>Rapunzel heads into the forest without looking to see if he’s following or not. Now that they’ve escaped the immediate danger of suffocating to death, she can’t stop thinking of the secret he told her, his name repeating in her head until it doesn’t sound real at all.</p><p>
  <em>Eugene Fitzherbert.</em>
</p><p>When he’d first spoke, tied in her chair as she forced her hands not to shake, she’d been relieved by the name off his lips and its unfamiliarity. </p><p>She used to dream of the man who’d hold that name on her shoulder; terrifyingly large with sharp teeth and claws, just as Mother had described to her. He’d find her and chase her until she woke up, crying and cowering in her bed for the remainder of the night. As the years passed, so grew her certainty in her security, and the name on her shoulder blade became a stubborn reminder of why she stayed inside day after day.</p><p>“Blondie? You rushed off rather quick. You’re not hurt, are you?”</p><p>She’s not surprised to find him close behind her, but she tenses nonetheless. It seems a bit pointless now, after having already revealed the easiest way for him to harm her. </p><p>“N-no!” she stutters out. “I’m fine! Just... thought we should… find a good place to rest and dry off?”</p><p>“Oh, sure. Look for a good place to sit, and I’ll start us a fire.”</p><p>Yet, something in her teems with guilt. Especially with the sincerity laced through his voice and how he stoops to lift her sopping hair. He’s been nothing but kind to her—well, at least, he was never <em>mean</em>, even before she bartered for his role as her guide. He doesn’t look very harmful compared to the litany of men chasing after them, anyway.</p><p>Perhaps most frightening is how she does trust him, despite all of the bells in her head ringing their warnings. She wants to believe, more than anything, that Mother is wrong. And that’s the worst feeling of them all.</p><p>He reaches for her arm, gently pulling her attention to the left. “Hey, Blondie, how’s this look?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“To rest.” He’s grinning down at her, and it makes her feel warm despite the chill of the wind against her wet skin. “See, here, you can sit right on this log.”</p><p>She sits where he gestures to, watching him pace around the small, grassy space. It is, admittedly, a good place to stop for the night. And even Pascal seems to trust him, sitting on his shoulder as Eugene gathers an armful of sticks and leaves.</p><p>A part of her wants to ask him, but that bit of doubt in her holds her back, as if by crossing that barrier will suddenly make all the horrors in her mind leap to life.</p><p>In the passing silence though, her shoulders slowly relax. Her eyes stay attuned to his movement, but out of curiosity rather than fear. She’s never seen a fire started without a match, and she finds herself slinking closer beside him as he takes a couple of small rocks out of his pocket. Smiling, he explains what he’s doing before she can ask, and even places the objects in her hands so she can strike them herself.</p><p>He doesn’t ask about her hair, or ridicule her when she can’t immediately produce a flame, or sit too close when she moves back to the log—even though, truthfully, she’s disappointed when he doesn’t.</p><p>Maybe fate got it wrong, she thinks. Or there’s some other, horrible Eugene Fitzherbert out there, because she’s certain <em>this</em> man will never hurt her.</p><hr/><p>There is a moment, briefly, watching him walk off with the satchel that she thinks Mother may have been right all along. </p><p>It certainly doesn’t feel right, but everything’s happened so quickly that she can’t really make sense of it all. He was dancing with her, smiling at her, leaning in to <em>kiss her</em> only moments before. Wasn’t he?</p><p>Unless, perhaps, the most hurtful thing he could ever do to her was make her love him, only to leave her.</p><hr/><p>Rapunzel’s kissing him faster than his head can keep up, lips surprisingly firm and steady against his own. In the moment it takes for his body to react, neither of them move, and he realises with a shock that she probably doesn’t know <em>how</em>. </p><p>He lifts his hands in the same moment he begins pressing his lips to hers in return, tilting his head then hers, the ends of her hair tickling his palm. A sigh falls from her lips and brings a small smile to his own, right as he properly takes her top lip between his and ever so slightly tugs her closer. She repeats the motion effortlessly, and he’s fairly certain he could stay in this one moment for as long as she allows him.</p><p>Eventually she pulls away only to fold back in his arms. And as much he hates to break the moment, the shock is starting to wear off, and he’s becoming acutely aware of the chain dragging on his arm, among other things.</p><p>“Hey, uh,” he asks, “this may be a weird question, but did I... die?”</p><p>“I—I think so.” She unentangles herself from him, sitting hunched on the floor, much to his chagrin. “I’m so sorry, Eugene. This is all my fault. I should have—”</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. What? You, Rapunzel, saved my life. Or brought me back from the dead. I do have to admit that the second one sounds <em>way</em> more impressive.”</p><p>She shakes her head, and Eugene can see the tears returning to her eyes, her shoulders sinking even lower as if she could disappear. He reaches for her before that can happen, lifting her chin so she can see the sincerity in his eyes.</p><p>“I’m fine, really. Honestly, I feel better than I have in weeks. Take a look even, it’s all—”</p><p>They both pause as he reveals the sliver of skin that had previously been sliced clean through, though it’s not the lack of a scar that takes the words from his mouth. It’s the name in its place, as clearly written as the last time he saw it ten years ago.</p><p>It feels like a cosmic joke—to finally find all he never really believed he needed, and be reminded that none of it was <em>his</em>. She must have her own soul mate after all, somewhere out in the world. He’s nauseous at the thought. </p><p>Rapunzel reaches forward, as if to touch him, but quickly retracts her hand. She whispers, “What is it?”</p><p>“It’s... don’t you, uh, have one?”</p><p>She looks down and away, which he tries not to take too personally. It would have been one thing to be raised sheltered in a tower for eighteen years, but he saw her mother, heard the way she treated Rapunzel. The bitch should be lucky she’s dead from the way his blood boils at the thought of her. There’s no telling how much betrayal and lies she left in her wake.</p><p>“Okay.” He firmly takes her hand in his own, more for his own strength than anything, and takes a steadying breath in.</p><p>“They call it a soul mark,” he explains. “It’s some sort of old magic, I think. There’s a thousand stories of how it came to be, if you’re interested, though it’s mostly crap whichever way you slice it. Basically, it just means everyone gets stuck with the name of some other poor fool they’re meant to fall in love with, or be perfect for, or whatever you please.”</p><p>“And... she’s yours?”</p><p>He scoffs at that. “Sure is.”</p><p>They both fall silent after that, and he suddenly feels the strangest sense of déjà vu. Rapunzel is sitting just at the edges of his reach, but it’s already too far, especially now that he knows how it feels to hold her in his arms. He only wants her closer, but she’s drifting away. Just the same as everyone else in his life, he thinks bitterly.</p><p>Feeling something akin to claustrophobic, he clasps his hand more tightly around hers, and looks down to the chain still locked around his wrist. He needs it off <em>now</em> more than anything.</p><p>“Hairpin?” he asks, feeling out of breath.</p><p>She startles, but doesn’t have to reach far before she’s tentatively setting one in his palm. He fumbles with it, attempting to unlock the manacle without dropping her hand.</p><p>“Have you met her?” she eventually asks.</p><p>He absolutely does not want to continue this conversation anymore. But if he knew how to say no to Rapunzel, he would have already tried days ago. “Never have, never will, and never want to.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>The lock finally clicks free, and he frees his arm. He’s still breathing faster than should be normal, though that’s at least one weight off his chest.</p><p>“Tell you what, Rapunzel. If you manage to find me the Lost Princess, I’ll stop by and say hello.”</p><p>At that, her face slowly morphs into a grin as she scoots back towards him, which he’s immensely relieved for despite his confusion. She’s back in his arms, hands looped behind his neck, and he tentatively wraps around her.</p><p>“The Lost Princess is your soul mate,” she states, as more of a fact than anything.</p><p>“Yeah, technically, but look, I don’t really—hey, whoa, what are you doing?”</p><p>She appears to be loosening the laces of her corset, though he can’t fathom why. “I thought—do you mind undoing the buttons?” He’s fairly sure this is the point that he should be looking away, which is crazy because he’s never been one to look away from a woman disrobing, but she’s caught him so off guard that he reaches for the buttons at the nape of her neck like she asks. “Thank you. It didn’t make sense at first, but of <em>course</em> she had a different name! I mean, <em>I</em> did. Which means <em>you</em> must really be <em>mine</em> after all.”</p><p>“Uh, that still doesn’t explain the—oh.” Both layers fall off her shoulder with a yank, and she turns in his arms, revealing a small name etched in black. His name. “Fuck. But that’s...”</p><p>“<em>I’m</em> the Lost Princess, Eugene. I mean, I figured as much, but this proves it, doesn’t it?”</p><p>His mind is spinning and reeling, though the one word that keeps reappearing is the way Rapunzel called him hers. He’s never belonged to anybody. It feels better than anything he could have ever dreamt for.</p><p>“You... yeah. But, wait a minute, you’re sure I’m not dead?”</p><p>She drifts closer until their noses are touching, laughing softly at him. “<em>Eugene</em>.”</p><p>“Right, yeah, okay.”</p><p>This time, he kisses her first. He’s hesitant, as if she’ll fade away, but she grasps his jaw and pulls him in so close their teeth bump. It’s clumsy and messy, but he laughs through it anyway, because she did it. All that time, and she’s the one who saved <em>him</em>.</p>
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